What is it about the mortal condition that makes us crave more and more power? When is it ever simply enough to wield that which one already possesses responsibly? Some days it is entirely incomprehensible that I once shared in this madness.

A masterpiece they called it; an ingenious monument that would unite a nation. It was a policy that would create equality on every level making the rich and poor cooperative neighbors. Oh how glorious celebration and acclaim turns so quickly into murderous riots and condemnation.

In squares where once cheering crowds gathered to wave flags in unthinking support, now smolder torn banners. The podiums, at which countless dignitaries extolled the masses with meaningless speeches, lie broken and overturned. Streets that had thronged with citizens excited by the festivities now stand abandoned, littered with the detritus of forgotten joy. Though much worse waited any who bothered to look, the bodies awaited.

Bodies consigned to oblivion by those caught up in the moment of anger and rage. Young children trampled underfoot or struck by a stray blow, would never again fill the world with their innocent laughter. The elderly over run, too slow to flee the violence that descended upon them, would never share the wisdom earned over a lifetime. Lastly, those benighted fools who in their misguided beliefs felt only heat of cleansing flames or bloody sacrifice could ever affect change. It was a mess that only the most hearty or weary of souls could ever sort out.

In the usual course of events, when the young or old pass, ethereal portals open to receive them and usher them on their way; however, when lives are cut short by violence or accident the souls are left to wander aimlessly. Most of these wandering spirits eventually find their way to one of the permanent portals created by the Ethereal Guardians. Others become haunts forever tied to the place of their demise, and are either doomed to repeat events of their death or prey upon the living as malignant poltergeists. Still, these fates are not written in stone, other forces can intervene to guide them or devour them.

Out in the countryside, and other less urban areas, guidance is within the jurisdiction of the Crows. Strange other worldly beings, the Crows have the heads of carrion birds that rest on the shoulders of human bodies. Great black feathered wings extend from the middle of their backs allowing them to soar in the skies like their names sakes in pursuit of their duties. Though I would not recommend mentioning any of this to the living, to them the Crows simply appear as common carrion birds. Sadly, they also avoid areas with large populations of sentient life, apparently the corrupt miasma prevalent in cities and towns cause them great discomfort, so those dying of violence and accidents in these places must rely on restless souls such as myself for guidance.

It is a heavy burden to carry on my incorporeal shoulders, but as with everything else I do in my afterlife…It relieves the boredom of my eternal existence.